


~I still see your bright eyes~

by mastiffgirl



Category: Fleetwood Mac - Fandom, stevie nicks - Fandom
Genre: Comfort, Friendship, Gen, Mentions of Cancer, Mild Language, References to Addiction, References to Drugs, covid-19 needs to fuck off
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-10
Updated: 2020-04-10
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:08:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,227
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23583610
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mastiffgirl/pseuds/mastiffgirl
Summary: Matthew was born, Robin died, and Stevie was left broken.
Relationships: Christine McVie/Stevie Nicks, stevie nicks/robin anderson (platonic)
Kudos: 2





	~I still see your bright eyes~

**Author's Note:**

> Let me address the elephant on the screen: "Why don't you write about your own feelings instead of Stevie's?" Well, right now I'm rather flustered. I haven't figured out what I'm feeling yet. I have two precious, beautiful sister-friends who have been exposed to COVID-19. Neither are showing symptoms yet, but one has a live-in grandfather who's tested positive and the other has a close friend (who hosted her bachelorette party this past weekend) who's waiting on results. I've had multiple panic attacks, meltdowns, and really wanted to get drunk this week, especially over the last three days. I've tried to keep myself distracted by watching TikToks and bingeing all things Stevie. I just had the five year anniversary of seeing Fleetwood Mac in concert, so I was already having a Stevie/Mac ~moment~ but this COVID-19 outbreak, and the fact it's hit so extremely close to home, is just another reason to dive down the Mac rabbit hole. So I present you with this. These are my indescribable feelings—the sublimation of them, no doubt—and something I've been pondering since 2006...
> 
> Cross-posted from my Wattpad (sunset-dreaming)

Monitors had silenced. The final, pressured sigh, released. An infant too small to breathe on his own was safe inside a Plexiglas case.

Brown eyes stared high into the ceiling, beyond it—beyond the boundary of matter. Lost in a trance of thought without thought, feeling without feeling, Stevie lie sedentary in her basement. The deed was done. Robin's choice had come to fruition. Without any shred of hesitation, she insisted on having that baby...having something to leave behind. And she did. She had the baby, then three days later, she left him behind. Whether he would live or not, Stevie nor the baby's father, Kim, knew. They could hope, because hope was all that was left. When the lighthouse beacon fades away and the sky is overcast, blocking the stars, hope is all that remains. Sailing helplessly amid waves of crushing proportions can render the strongest and most resilient of God's creatures entirely infantile, craving only the safety of their mother's arms: the harbor.

Oh, how Stevie craved the harbor.

Robin's mortal light was gone; her spiritual presence stilted in the faze of Stevie's near-coma. Not even a concoction of brandy, pot and cocaine could soothe her, though she did try. Pierces of sheer pain ran through her veins (an unexpected symptom of trauma). Nothing was _normal_ anymore. Nothing would ever be _normal_ again. Something left that day, something Stevie couldn't describe. Apt to jot every emotion down in her journal, and sometimes make a demo of her musings, Stevie knew something would come out that was about Robin, and she would jot it down as soon as her disastrous emotional cluster-fuck had somewhat abated.

It seemed she had taken some of Robin's pain as Stevie was suffering from walking pneumonia. Not to mention, the timing could not have been worse: Fleetwood Mac was mid-Mirage tour and already had to reschedule a concert, Lindsey and Stevie were on the rocks again, Robin had been sick for almost a whole year, and Stevie was gearing up for The Wild Heart tour. All of her time rushing about seemed futilely spent suddenly. What had she done? The time she spent with Robin was littered by the tail ends of coke binges and drunkenness. But no substance could buffer the blow that was to come. Stevie knew what was ahead—she just didn't know how much it would unravel her, bludgeon her, crush her...break her. She was not hollow, for there were no walls to bore.

Stevie lay silently staring into the remnants of what was and what wasn't, what existed before and what existed after, how life was before and how life would be going forward, assuming she lived past the next day to discover the answer. Once, she thought her relationship with Lindsey was the worst loss of her life; she was wrong.

A brandy glass flew ten feet through the air, landing on the wall as a mirror to Stevie's soul. Glass shards crackled against the echoic floor, light and airy. The sounds her basement walls witnessed the evening before were anything but light and airy. Long, raspy, violent wails resounded throughout Stevie's house, akin to sounds produced during an exorcism. In essence, Stevie was exorcising herself, or she was being exorcised. She couldn't decide. She didn't care. It didn't matter.

She sat upright slowly. The room was dark, just the way she liked it. On any other normal evening, she would be hosting her gaggle of gal pals or entertaining the occasional drive-by boyfriend. But nothing was normal anymore. Wet coughs filled the space around her. Could she drown in her own mucus? Maybe. And, my, wouldn't that be a sweet release?

Stevie stretched her back and legs, pressing her face into her thighs. She moved her hands over her shins and pulled at her feet. Days of positioning herself into contorted angles left her body sore and taught. She needed to stretch despite her desire to simply lie languid in whatever way her body fell onto the nearest surface.

Loud, reverberating screeching came from down the hall, breaking the silence. Stevie rose, reluctantly, dragging herself up from the floor. She reached her telephone on its fourth ring.

"What?" she spoke with a strangled timbre. She had no time for customary salutations.  
"Hi, darling." Christine's low, bourbon-like voice came from the receiver. "Will you let me come see you?"  
"No. I told you, Chris, I don't—I can't see anyone right now. I need..." Stevie rubbed her forehead. "I don't know what I need," she admitted and choked back a whimper.  
Christine offered sternly, "What you need, Stevie, is someone to hold you. I know your parents left yesterday. You shouldn't be alone."  
Stevie huffed. "How would you know? How would anyone know?"

A moment of silence lingered longer than Stevie felt was comfortable.

"I know," Christine said. "Please?"

Stevie leaned against the wall. Her legs felt weak and her head was spinning.

"Alright. Okay. Come in the back way. I'll leave the door open," she said and hung up.

___

Stevie sat curled into a tight ball in the corner of her basement. Her chin rested on her knee caps and arms crossed over her shins. The glass of brandy she had downed half an hour before was finally lulling her into semi-consciousness.

Her fog lifted slightly by the touch of a hand on her shoulder. The sound of a warm voice swam through the thick swamp in which Stevie had immersed herself. The crispness of Christine's words were drowning like a child who was unable to swim and only stared at the glistening surface of the water, silently begging someone to rescue them. Stevie felt her body rise but not of its own accord. Her black tunic scraped against her delicate skin as Christine pulled her over to the sofa. She dropped Stevie onto the cushions with a small bounce. Christine sat next to her and dragged Stevie's petite body to rest on her torso, Stevie's legs draped over her lap. Angelic locks tickled Christine's neck as she rocked her friend to and fro, listening to Stevie's pneumonia-induced raspy breaths—at least she _was_ still breathing. They sat huddled together for minutes unknown, both in respective trances. The earth could have stopped spinning, and neither would have known or cared.

___

"You have to eat something," Christine ordered. Stevie sat limp at her breakfast bar, head buried in the crook of her arm. She shook her head 'no'. "Then at least drink some water," Christine said and reached into the cabinet for a water glass.   
Stevie croaked out a growl; she hated being told what to do. "No. Fucking no, Chris!"

Christine turned sharply, water glass in hand. She slammed the glass onto the counter, jerking Stevie out her stupor.

"Stop beating yourself up, Stevie! It's not your fault Robin died. It was her decision—"  
"I KNOW, CHRISTINE!!!"  
  


Stevie's interruption came with seething eyes. Christine looked at her band mate and friend: she had never seen Stevie in such a state, and she hoped she never would again.

"Will you _fucking_ shut up?" Stevie asked, flexing her hands in emphasis.

Christine nodded tersely, turned, and filled the glass with water. She placed it in front of Stevie, pointed at the glass and cocked her head, silently ordering Stevie to drink. Stevie looked at the glass for a moment. She was still somewhat inside her brandy haze and didn't feel like leaving.

"No," Stevie said calmly and tipped the glass with her finger. Water spilled over the counter, and Christine looked at the ceiling. It was clearly going to take more of an effort to pull Stevie out of her comfortable numbness.

Christine leaned over the counter, bending her elbows so she was eye-to-eye with Stevie.

"Listen, darling. And please do not interrupt me; I know more than you think I know, and you need to hear it. You get me?" Stevie nodded and Christine continued, "Firstly, you need to eat. You've had nothing but booze, pot and coke in your body for three days. I'm honestly surprised you're not dead. Secondly, you _have_ to keep going. You have to. Trying to kill your emotions won't bring her back, and it will only make life harder for _you_."

Stevie placed her head back in the crook of her arm and lethargically shook it, trying to mute reality.

Christine continued, "Thirdly, and I mean this with all the love in my heart, you look like shit."

Stevie let out a weak chuckle which turned into a hard, wet cough. She raised her head and reached for a napkin. Christine beat her to it. She handed the napkin over but tugged back when Stevie latched on.

"Eat," Christine said firmly, then let go.  
___

"If it's Lindsey, tell him to fuck off!" Stevie shouted through a mouthful of mashed potatoes.

Christine had finally managed to get Stevie to eat, and now that she was, she didn't want to stop.

"I'm sorry, Mick," Christine said with a lull. "Stevie's not ready. She needs time...time we don't have, I'm aware."

Mick offered a consolatory hum; he knew words couldn't pierce the barrier Stevie had set.

"Right. We'll cancel another date for now. But we can't keep doing this."  
"I know."  
"Give her my love?"  
"Of course. Cheers."

Christine hung up the receiver and trailed her hand down the wall. Stevie sat at the breakfast bar, elbows bent and fork hanging limp from her fingers. She had finished her plate, and Christine smiled. Stevie dropped the fork with a dull _clank_ and pushed the plate away.

"Chris?"  
"Over here, love," Christine said and raised her finger. Stevie looked her direction and dropped her arms to the counter.  
"Where's the dope? I need to smoke a joint."  
"No. Out of the question."

Unamused, Stevie let out an airy chuckle.

"Are you suddenly my mother?"  
"For the time being, yes."  
"No way. I'm out. I'll get the girls to help me."  
"Unfortunately, they're not here right now, and you don't have a choice," Christine said firmly as she walked back into the kitchen. "I'm here, and I want to help you. Mick has canceled another date, but we can't keep this up. You have to pull yourself together."  
"And what if I don't want to?"  
"I'm afraid that's also out of the question." Christine came to a halt at Stevie's side and leaned against the counter. Her blonde mane framed Stevie's face well, and she looked heavenly lit by the kitchen ceiling lights. "We only want you to be able to walk on stage. We don't care if it's the best performance of your life; you just have to sing. We'll pass out fliers explaining what's happened if we have to."  
"No. No, I don't want you to do that. No one needs to know."  
"I'm pretty sure a lot of people know by now, love." Christine offered a meek pat on Stevie's shoulder. Stevie placed her fingers on Christine's hand and looked at the counter.  
"I don't think I can do this, Chris. I can barely talk without stopping to cough every six seconds. I can't imagine trying to sing."  
"Don't worry about that for right now. Just get your strength up. No booze, no pot, and no coke for twenty-four hours, yeah?"  
"What?! I can't go into withdrawal right now! It would fuck everything up worse than it is already!"  
"Right, then. I'll bet you you can't make it a whole day sober. And if you do, you'll have bragging rights over the lot of us for the rest of the tour." Christine held her palm out. Stevie looked at it and back at Christine's face then shook her hand. "A whole day, Stevie. No cheating. I have spies." Christine pointed at various spots in the air.  
"If things go tits up, I'm blaming you personally," Stevie said and rose from her chair. Christine smirked with confidence as Stevie passed her by.

___

Stevie once again lie on her basement floor, fully conscious and hating every second that passed. It had been some time since Christine left, and the hour had grown late. A natural night owl, Stevie claimed control over darkness as a queen over her subjects. Darkness was Stevie's servant; she used it to fuel her creativity and keep her secrets. Many hours in the dark were spent writing, either music or poetry. When everyone else was sleeping, Stevie was wide awake in her bubble of Alice in Wonderland, but not this night.

Brandy called Stevie's name. She heard its unmistakable siren song and looked to the wet bar. _One sip wouldn't hurt_ , she thought. Stevie rose from the floor yet again, but as soon as she was upright a muffled bang resounded in the space. Perhaps something had hit a window upstairs? Curious, Stevie bypassed the wet bar and walked up to the next floor. She flipped a light switch, illuminating the space. She could clearly see the ghost-like outline of a feather on her window and moved closer to inspect the stain. It was small, perhaps a few inches long—roughly the length of a robin, she realized.

Stevie slid down the wall, her eyes closed as tears streamed from her lashes. Wet coughs mixed with deep sobs as she felt...everything. 

**Author's Note:**

> This has been written and published with love and respect to Stevie, Robin, and their families. I am by no means comparing myself and my loved ones' health issues to what Stevie and Robin went through. I process emotions by writing. And that's what I've done with this piece.
> 
> 3/30/20 Update: I just got word both of my friends are ok. My friend's grandpa has recovered and the friend who hosted my bestie's bachelorette party tested negative. Please keep yourselves safe. The virus makes no discrimination and it carries its own timeline. Just because they're both ok doesn't mean it can't happen to you (or me, for that matter). Be safe and follow CDC guidelines. Love and light—KT


End file.
